


The Anatomy of an FBI Agent

by aebirdie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Doctor Derek, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Smut, TW: Blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-10 09:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aebirdie/pseuds/aebirdie
Summary: Stiles nodded. It sounded like a day full of machinery and doctors muttering over his scans.“Will I be hanging out with you or one of the babies?”Dr. Cutie grinned. “How could I trust them with my most prized patient?”Stiles laughed.He barely noticed the pain.*used to be Lime Jello*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> warning for the beginning:a little violence is described in the beginning, but that is it

Stiles heard the gun go off before he felt it. It ripped through his ribcage, his calf. A bullet bounced off of his Kevlar. Another went into his chest.

He didn’t feel any of the others. But he remembered the facts of the case in sudden clarity-a major drug deal bust, the deaths of five women, etc, etc. 

He remembered the promise he made to one of the victim's mothers. Single mom, daughter was all she had. She wanted justice, and Stiles had wanted justice too.

That was what Stiles had remembered. He was hearing small outbursts now, of paramedics and nurses and a dark-haired doctor in dark blue scrubs shouting things like _push one of morphine_!

Stiles floated in and out of consciousness. A handsome face leaned over him, and Stiles tried to mutter a pickup line. He was pretty sure it went something like “qwpfwnsdvsfiovbwcopwaeijc.”

It must have sounded better than Stiles had thought, because the handsome doctor grinned. Stiles felt sleepy. He wanted to go to sleep.

“Hey, Agent Stilinski, stay with me, okay?” The doctor smiled softly at him. Stiles dubbed him Dr. Cutie. It fit him, Dr. Cutie. Whatever his real name was, that was long gone. There was Dr. Cutie.

“Okay,” Stiles whispered. 

“We’re going into surgery now, Agent Stilinski. You have seven GSWs that we’re going to stitch up, and you’ll be back in the field in no time.”

Dr. Cutie wheeled Stiles into an operating room. They stopped, and a nurse passed Dr. Cutie a mask thing. 

“Alright, Agent, I’m going to put this mask on and you’re going to count backwards from ten,” Dr. Cutie said.

“Coolio,” said Stiles. If he could move his arms, he would snap his fingers. “What’s your name?”

Dr. Cutie grinned. “Dr. Hale.”

“Ten, nine, eight, seven-” Stiles was out before he could get to six.

*

Scott rushed to Columbia Med as soon as he had heard. When Stiles had finished college, he had gone into the FBI. Everyday, Scott is worried that Stiles will die. Somehow, Stiles will die and Scott will have to bury him in Beacon Hills. The hospital had called the Sheriff first, then Scott and Isaac. They were celebrating Erica’s birthday. November 14th. He had been worried when Stiles hadn’t shown up. Lydia had said that there was a mission, but there was always a mission, always a case Stiles just _had_ to get on. 

And then Scott had gotten that call, and Erica had stayed in the same skin-tight skirt for three and a half days until Boyd had forced her to change into something more appropriate. He had told her that Stiles was still be there when she got back. 

He had crashed, and Erica had socked Boyd in the arm when she heard. He stabilized, though, and two days later, he woke up.

The FBI agents had shown up on the second day. The chief of the NY office had paced for the days his most prized agent was in a coma. The police, Beacon Hills and NYPD alike, had come. The Beacon Hills officers had basically raised Stiles when he showed them his crayon drawings in kindergarten and comforted him when girls-and boys-he liked didn’t like him back. The NYPD guys had known him from previous cases, like the time when he solved their biggest serial killer case after two days of having the files. 

Agent Stilinski was good. He was brilliant, and he loved his job, and his co-workers loved him. 

The Agents and the cops and Stiles’ friends were a nuisance to the doctor. Dr. Hale. Scott could imagine the nicknames Stiles would give this guy. He was handsome, with good cheekbones and full hair, and eyes that almost changed color when sunlight hit them. 

Dr. Hale told them that Stiles had taken eight bullets. Two to the calf, one to his forearm, two to the chest, two to the left rib cage, and one so close to his heart that Stiles almost stroked out. 

But Stiles had woken up. Dr. Hale said that he was breathing on his own, which was good. Agent Stilinski is strong, a NYPD officer had said. Scott knew that. It could have gone unspoken. Everyone knew that Stiles was strong.

He had pulled through, but every time Dr. Hale had taken Scott to see Stiles, Scott had been afraid. He had looked too skinny, too frail. He was pale, so pale that his moles stood out like black spatterings on a white canvas. His coloring would come back when he woke up, a nurse had told Scott. 

He didn’t really believe her. 

But he tried.

*

Stiles woke up connected to tubes. He hurt-it wasn’t a specific place, just all over. His leg was in one of those boot things, and his right arm was in a sling. He could feel bandages constraining his ribs as he breathed. His head felt like it did back in third grade, when the big kids shoved his head in a urinal. 

“Hey, Agent Stilinski,” Dr. Cutie walked into the room. “Your surgery went great. There’s about a million FBI personnel in the waiting room,along with a few cops.”

“So why’s this room so big?” Stiles asked.

Dr. Cutie smiled. “This is the ICU.”

“I’m not critical.”

“You were.”

“How long?” Stiles demanded.

Dr. Hale looked down at his chart. Stiles was an avid _Grey’s Anatomy_ watcher, he knew that Dr. Hale had checked on his stats, his meds, how long he was asleep. Scott’s mom had practically raised him-he knew how much doctors and nurses cared for their patients.

“So,” Stiles croaked, “do you always hang around in the ICU, or is it just me?”

Dr. Cutie placed the chart down and said that he did, because he was a trauma attending, and he wanted to make sure that the interns didn’t screw anything up, because then the FBI as a whole would be on the hospital’s ass. He could tell by the way the agents and officers alike stood up whenever he walked into the waiting room. 

There’s a lot of people here for you, Dr. Cutie says. Stiles head throbs. Dr. Cutie says that he has a minor concussion. Stiles likes to remind him that the concussion is the least of his problems. Dr. Cutie gives him morphine. 

Stiles asks if Dr. Cutie thinks that God is real. Dr. Cutie tells him that he is jacked up on the morphine, that when he falls asleep the effects will wear off. 

On the sixth day, he is moved into a proper patient room. The nurses bring by little kids and tell them that he is an agent, but they must keep it a secret and not tell anyone. Officers and his friends from work escort him to the new room. They line up on the sides of the wall, and the children stare at them, amazed. He smiles at them. Dr. Cutie says that he has graduated from the ICU. He is stable. His chest hurts and his head spins.

Stiles tries to walk to the bathroom and is too dizzy to walk. The IV pushes a clear fluid into his body. For the life of him, Stiles cannot remember what it is called.

On the seventh day, his dad is allowed to visit. Stiles can barely remember what they talked about. He worried that his dad’s heart had been affected by the news. He worried that he wasn’t taking care of himself like he should. His dad went to go get real food.

Stiles ate a cheeseburger. His dad had a salad, and told him that he had to go back to Beacon Hills. They said goodbye, and his dad brought him real-people clothes from Stiles’ apartment. It was sad, the goodbye. Stiles remembered tearing up a little. 

(Okay, a lot.)

On the eighth day, Scott and Lydia and Erica and the rest of their friend group, which Lydia jokingly called a pack, came. Mason brought the little lemon tarts from the local supermarkets. Dr. Cutie ate four.

“He’s cute,” Mason said when Dr. Cutie left the room. 

Stiles discreetly checked out his butt. “Yeah, I know,” Stiles said.

“You gonna tap that?” Erica asked. 

Stiles choked on his lemon tart thingy. “Probably not.”

“He’s totally into you. He has a round of little baby doctors that keep watch over you constantly.” Erica pointed out one, a mousy little intern standing at the nurses station. “Like that one.”

They all watched as a new intern-this time, a blonde haired woman-relieved her.

“He’s not into me,” Stiles said. “It’s his job to look after me. Quite literally. Like, in hs job description as a doctor.”

“Sure, okay,” Erica said. She watched the cute blonde intern for a few more seconds before turning back to her friends.

There was a knock on the door, and Stiles’ boss walked in. Kate Argent was young for a bureau director, but she was ambitious and the sister of two of the best agents in FBI history. When Stiles had first met Allison, he thought she was joking when she said that she was related to Kate. 

“Director Argent,” Stiles said respectfully. 

“Agent Stilinski, I have an update for your case on the Dread Doctors.” She placed a file onto the tray connected to Stiles’ bed. “Now, if you would like another agent to-”

“No, that’s alright,” Stiles interrupted. “I want to stay on the case, Director.”

Kate nodded. “I’d hoped you’d say that. You’re one of our most valuable agents, Stilinski. I hope that this setback on the case doesn’t put you out of commision for too long.”

“It’ll be a long and rough recovery, Agent,” Dr. Hale said, entering the room. “He’ll need to rest for at least four more weeks, so no field work for him. Bed rest until he’s moving and working at a hundred percent. Check-ups every two weeks. Possibly more surgery on his heart and shoulder. This is serious, Agent Argent.”

Kate stared at him coolly. “I’m well aware, Dr. Hale.” They were like estranged lovers, the pair of them. Stiles could tell that they knew each other from before. This was the bureau’s go-to hospital, and agents were always in the line of fire. They must have a long standing argument about bed rest or something. Or Argent had snuck into his apartment and killed Dr. Hale’s cat. They definitely hated each other.

“This isn’t a joke, Kate,” Dr. Hale said. He narrowed his eyes at Agent Argent.

“So, can I get some Jello, or?” Stiles asked. 

Dr. Hale snapped his fingers and the blonde intern from the hall came into the room. 

“Get Agent Stilinski some of the good Jello, Harbecker,” Dr. Hale commanded. She nodded eagerly and stepped out again. Erica eyed her like a wolf eying an innocent bunny.

Erica was so joing to jump that poor intern’s bones.

Lydia picked up the file. She was a data analyst, and they had been in the same Quantico class. They had grown up together, too, back home in Beacon Hills. Along with Scott and Isaac and Malia and Kira and everyone, really. His dad had constantly reminded him that his friends that he made in high school wouldn’t be the friends he had for the rest of his life, but they were. Stiles had a good laugh about it after he and Scott had moved in together after college.

“I understand that this isn’t a joke, Derek,” Kate said. “He is my agent, and he put his life on this line. I just wanted to-”

“Visiting hours are over, Agent Argent,” Dr. Cutie commanded. Stiles’ friends grumbled and groaned, but they left too. 

Stiles got his Jello.

*

“Good morning, Agent,” Dr. Harbecker said, walking into his room. Stiles was an early riser(thanks, Quantico!) and was watching some baking show.

“You’re chipper today,” Stiles noted. She blushed and looked down at Stiles’ chart, which told him enough. His friends were terribly embarrassing.

“How did you sleep?” Dr. Harbecker asked.

Stiles decided to change the subject. He had a nightmare, about the day he was shot. When he was little, his friends had been scared of monsters under their beds and the darkness hiding inside their closets. Stiles had been afraid of falling asleep. It had gotten a little better during middle school and high school, but it was definitely worse now. Sharing this with the doctors would be a good idea, but Erica’s latest conquest seemed like a blabbermouth. He didn’t want Erica to fuss over him like a mother hen. 

“Okay,” Stiles lied.

“Excellent.” She made a note on his chart. 

Dr. Hale walked in, followed by two other doctors.

“Who’s presenting?” Dr. Hale asked. Stiles felt like a science project when Harbecker raised her hand.

“Stiles Stilinski, 24, presented with seven GSWs, one to the calf, one to the shoulder, three to the chest, and two to his ribcage.”

“And what happened during surgery, Dr. Eckels?” Dr. Cutie asked. A nervous-looking boy stepped up.

“We extracted the bullets from his calf first, then made sure with a mobile CT he didn’t have any internal bleeding. Next was the two non-emergent chest wounds, then the ribcage bullets. His lung collapsed, so we put in a chest tube and he stabilized. Dr. Allent fixed up the bullet in his forearm. For the last bullet, Dr. Armstrong cracked his chest and carefully extracted the bullet. There was a complication with his heart, but Dr. Armstrong was able to fix it before Agent Stilinski stroked out. His current injuries include three broken ribs, a fractured radius and a shattered tibia.”

“And our next steps, Dr. Britman?” Dr. Hale asked, and the mousy intern stepped up. 

“We’ll take his for a head CT and check on his heart today, and discuss physical therapy options. To insure that he’ll have full function of his shoulder and leg, we’ll need to start him with a physical therapist within the next six weeks.”

Dr. Hale dismissed the interns and sat down on the chair by Stiles’ bedside. He pulled out two Jello cups and spoons to match. It hurt to move to reach for anything, even if the object was as light as a plastic spoon. 

“Are you okay?” Dr. Cutie asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “My arm just-”

“Here,” Dr. Cutie opened Stiles’ cup for him and dug his spoon in. “Open up.”

Stiles dropped his jaw obediently, and Dr. Cutie spoon-fed him lime Jello.

“Good?”

“Good,” Stiles replied. The doctor looked focused as he fed Stiles Jello. It was terribly adorable, and he looked like a big puppy. 

Stiles’ ribcage ached. Three broken ribs, Eckels had said. Made sense. 

Dr. Cutie placed his Jello cup down. “I’m going to change your bandages now, alright? I’d let the babies do it, but they’re new and feel like they have something to prove. Last week, they argued about who would give a nice woman an IV and continuously poked her with a needle and didn’t draw any blood.”

“You sound like you’re already exhausted of them,” Stiles laughed. That hurt, to laugh, but the expression on Dr. Cutie’s face was worth it.

The doctor stood up and moved to the side of Stiles’ bed. “They’re exhausting. I’m sure you can imagine.”

He remembered how much he had annoyed his directors with basic questions and disobedience. “I can. My instructors have just stopped rolling their eyes when I have something to say.”

“How long have you been an agent?” Dr. Cutie asked.

“Around a year,” Stiles told him. Dr. Cutie’s eyebrows furrowed. Frankly, it was adorable.

“I’m going to have to lift up your gown now, okay?” Stiles nodded, and Dr. Hale’s quick fingers worked on removing his dressings. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Dr. Hale removed a bandage from a cut on Stiles’ head, which Stiles wasn’t aware he had. The boot came off, along with the wrist splint. There were small splatterings of dried blood on the bandages, and Dr. Hale cursed his interns under his breath.

“Do you always show this much care for your patients?” Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged. “I like you. You’re fun.”

Fun was good. Stiles could do fun. 

“You’re pretty cool too,” Stiles said as Derek redressed his bullet holes. “What else are we doing today?”

“A head CT and I also want to make sure that you don’t have any internal injuries.” Dr. Hale threw away the Jello cups and the old bandages. “I like to be careful.” 

Stiles nodded. It sounded like a day full of machinery and doctors muttering over his scans.

“Will I be hanging out with you or one of the babies?”

Dr. Cutie grinned. “How could I trust them with my most prized patient?”

Stiles laughed. 

He barely noticed the pain.


	2. Chapter 2

The whir of the machines around him could have put Stiles to sleep. He laid there, still as a stone, while Dr. Hale stood on the other side of the wall. This was the head CT. He would have a small break, and then they would go get a stomach scan. 

There was a distinguished beep, and another whirl, and Derek came to pull him out of the death trap. Dr. Cutie helped him into the wheelchair, and they went out into the hall.

“You have a perfect brain, Agent Stilinski,” Dr. Hale said as they rounded a corner. “We’ll get you some lunch, then head to the stomach CT. 

“Can we get tacos?”

“Sure,” Derek said. “But not at the cafeteria. I’ll bring you something.”

“Can’t an intern do that, Dr. Hale?” A snooty nurse asked in passing.

“I have no reason to trust them,” Dr. Hale grumbled back.

She rolled her eyes, and continued to walk. Dr. Hale leaned down to Stiles’ ear and whispered: “Don’t worry, I’ve made sure that the good nurses are taking care of you.”

Dr Hale’s breath tickled Stiles’ neck. He could have stayed there, in the hallway with Dr. Hale, drinking in the sights and sounds of the hospital. So, of course, that was when he bent over and coughed up blood onto the stark white floor. It contrasted with the floor, more dark red then light. 

He wondered about lunch before he fainted.

*

The lights were harsh. Stiles had opened his eyes, and it made his head hurt. When he was little, he would look up at the sun, and get blinding headaches. It was a like that, but a thousand times worse. 

“Hello, Agent,” Kate said, entering the room. Dr. Hale followed her, grumbling under his breath. Lydia walked a bit behind, carrying their case files and Stiles’ laptop.

“I’ve told you, time and time again, he _needs_ to rest,” Dr. Hale said to Kate.

“And I _need_ him working on the Dread Doctor case. If you won’t discharge him, then I’ll bring the case to him.”

“Kate, get out of my patient’s room, before _I call security to escort you,_ ” Dr. Hale ordered.

Kate rolled her eyes, and turned to Stiles. “Review the case, Agent. Perhaps your hot headed doctor here will let Agent Martin stay.”

“Anyone but you,” Dr. Hale said as she left the room. Lydia sat down in the plush chair next to Stiles, which he had begun to think of as Dr. Hale’s chair.

Dr. Hale slammed the door as Kate left, and turned to Stiles apologetically. “I’m sorry about my behavior with her,” Dr. Hale said. “We, well,” Dr. Hale sighed,” it’s not the best story.

“Anyways, the reason you collapsed in the hall yesterday was because of your lung,” Dr. Hale explained. “Your first surgery had put stress on the vessels in your lung, but we were able to repair it.”

“Yesterday?” Stiles asked.

“Your surgery finished around three am last night,” Dr. Hale explained gently. 

“Did you get any sleep?” Stiles asked. It was what, seven am? Four hours, and the poor man was a trauma surgeon. There was always something going on in New York. 

Dr. Hale laughed. “It’s my job to worry about you, Sti-Agent Stilinski.”

“So, can I have Jello again for breakfast?” Stiles asked.

Dr. Hale smiled down at his chart. “There’s waffles today, so I was thinking…”

“Yes!” Lydia interrupted. “I’ve been sitting in the same room and staring at this case for hours. Please, waffles. Like, now.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be right back,” Dr. Hale said.

Once Dr. Hale had gone, Lydia turned to Stiles with that terribly familiar gleam in her eyes.

“You like him,” she crowed.

Stiles would grab a pillow and throw it at her if he could. “I do _not,_ ” he lashed back. “I’ve only known him for like, two days.”

“Two days of looove,” Lydia sang.

“Lydia, you need Jesus,” Stiles said. 

“He’s like, in love with you. He’s bringing you waffles. That’s a nurse’s job, not a trauma surgeon’s.” Lydia could be very persuasive if she wanted, and now, she had Stiles was half-convinced.

“You think so?” Stiles asked, and Lydia’s mouth formed a perfect O.

“You do like him!” Lydia looked like she had gotten the pony she wanted for Christmas. “Stiles, do you know what this means?”

“I like another unattainable guy?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re a bit of a genius, Stiles. You’ll figure it out.”

Lydia would make a good cryptid. Even at the Bureau, she was a big fan of leaving Stiles to do the work on his own. She always seemed to know the answer before he did, and this was no exception. 

“Is he back yet?” Stiles asked, and Lydia snickered. “Don’t we have the _case_ to talk about, not my nonexistent love life?”

Lydia’s face grew sullen and she pulled out a photo. It was a picture of a young, twenty-something man, smiling at the person behind the camera. He was cute, but in the next photo, he was dead. Warm brown skin turned pale, a frightened look in his eyes, and the signature mark of the Dread Doctors. 

“Noah Patrick. Another failed experiment for the Dread Doctors.” Lydia frowned, obviously unnerved with the newest death. “They got to him three days ago. I have the data analysis back at the Bureau, I can go get it.”

Stiles nodded and looked at the picture of the kid again. He looked around Liam’s age, with curly hair and warm brown eyes. Director Argent had always said that the bad agents got too emotionally attached, but Stiles called bullshit. Good agents cared. Bad agents didn’t.

Not that the Argents were bad agents. God knew that if Allison decided to go into Quantico, she would rock it. But people didn’t really _trust_ Kate. Stiles knew so. People tended to find him trustworthy, and confided in him about their innermost thoughts about his bosses. 

Lydia grabbed her keys and made for the door. “I’ll bring the rest of the files later. If I come back and you’re in surgery again, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Love you too,” Stiles called as she left. 

Dr. Cutie didn’t come back. A nurse brought waffles instead, and Stiles decided to pretend that his stomach didn’t drop in disappointment. Sure, the nurse was cute, but he wasn’t Dr. Cutie.

The nurse left the plate on the tray and Stiles feebly picked up the fork. Dr. Hale would hand-feed him. He tried to not hold a grudge, but was hard. He was used to not feeding himself here, being pampered by hotshot trauma surgeons. 

“Where’s Dr. Cutie?” Stiles asked. “I mean, Dr. Hale.” He felt his cheeks reddening.

The nurse chuckled. “He’s been pulled into an emergency surgery. Don’t worry, all the nurses have nicknames for Dr. Hale too. He’s terribly attractive.”

Stiles grinned. “What’s your name?”

“Theo,” said the nurse. “You?”

“Stiles,” he said, trying to focus on his waffles. Wouldn’t Theo know his patient’s names? Stiles didn’t focus on it. It was waffle-time. Waffle-time trumped FBI-time, always.

“So, Dr. Hale wants to have you start walking tomorrow.” Theo looked down at Stiles’ chart. “Are you ready?”

“If I choke on my waffles can I get out of it?” Stiles asked.

Theo laughed. “I don’t think so. Dr. Hale would be angry with me if I let you choke.”

Theo was flirting. Even waffle-time Stiles could see it. Sure, Theo was cute-adorable, really-but Stiles’ type was more scruffy and wolfish, not doe-eyed and soft. More, well, Dr. Cutie than Nurse Theo.

There were a few moments of silence before Theo excused himself. Once he left, Stiles threw down the fork and winced. He felt weak, like he had gone through Hell Week with the Navy Seals.

If Dr. Cutie was here, he would have told him that his wrist hurt, just so he could be babied, and fed lime jello cups until his stomach felt like it could burst.

But he wasn’t there. He supposed that he should have expected it. There was always an accident, a car crash, a mugging or something else going on. Stiles wasn’t the prized patient. He was just another body in a bed that needed a fix. There were definitely nurses and baby interns that could take care of him. Dr. Hale was needed here, like Stiles was needed on this case.

He sighed and pulled out the files again. Tracy Stewart was the first victim. The Dread Doctors had sent photos of her dead body to them. To Stiles, specifically. It was like a calling. They had found the poor girl two hours later, in an old warehouse in Brooklyn. Her throat was slashed, and so was Donovan Dontali’s, and Beth’s, and Noah Patrick’s. It was a signature move of a group of serial killers, a signature to mark their victims. Along with the injected mercury and the obvious body manipulations.

He had seen poor Tracy Stewart in his nightmares after finding her body. Her silver-stained mouth, the scared look in her eyes. The knife marks in her neck, her back, her hands. 

It was a never-ending nightmare, and Stiles was stuck in the middle of it.

The coroner’s notes were gruesome. The victims died in two ways-a cruel mercury poisoning and by the Dread Doctor’s weapons. The Dread Doctors were merciless, scattering bodies all throughout empty warehouses in New York.

The third clue that led the FBI to believe that the murderers were the Dread Doctors were the symbol that they carved onto the walls after they were done. Sometimes, it was in blood.

It was carved into the second victim's body, after the FBI press informer told people that the Dread Doctors weren’t a big threat. It was like their retaliation. They were telling the FBI that they were a bigger threat than anticipated. Stiles had gotten the message.

Don’t _fuck_ with the Dread Doctors. They will fuck you right back.

Dr. Cutie walked into the room as Stiles started looking over Noah’s case. He put it down, grateful for a distraction.

“Dr. Hale,” Stiles grinned. 

“You can call me Derek,” Dr. Hale said as he moved the closed case files to make room for Stiles’ chart.

“You can call me Stiles,” Stiles said like a stupid person.

“Already do.”

Stiles blushed. “Well, now you have my permission.”

Derek laughed, and a nurse with blonde hair poked her head into the room. “Derek, can I speak to you?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “That’s my sister. She’s annoying. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles said, and Derek left the room.

Laura looked like a spitting cat when she was mad, or defensive, or both. He had grown up with her, he should know. When Derek saw her fake-sincere smile, he knew that he had done something wrong.

“I _cannot_ believe you,” Laura hissed. “Another FBI agent?”

“Laura-” Derek started, but Laura cut him off.

“It’s like you enjoy punishing yourself! Don’t you remember what happened with Kate?” Laura was furious. “Braedon? Jennifer?”

Derek struggled to defend himself. “It’s not like them, Laura! I know what happened with the other girls, and I’m not stupid! I won’t make any of those mistakes again.”

“You said that before Kate. That _bitch_ moved in with you, and left you broken down on a doorstep. Jennifer tried to kill you, and Braeden _left you in Mexico_!”

“He wouldn’t leave in Mexico, Laura,” Derek tried to reason with her. “I don’t know if he likes boys, anyways.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, Derek. You would turn any straight boy into a raging homo.”

“That’s contradicting. You can only have one opinion.”

Laura shook her head. “Wrong. I want you to be happy but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“He’s not like that,” Derek said again. “It doesn’t feel like how it felt with Kate. It felt heavy with her. It feels...lighter.”

“That’s terrible and cheesy,” Laura said. “You need to get a life.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I’ll talk to you later, L. I have patients to check on.”

“We’re neighbors, Derek. You can’t stay away from me.”

Derek walked back into Stiles room, smiling. He knew, to the bottom of his heart, that she loved him, but he also knew that Stiles wouldn’t hurt him, in the 1% chance that he would want to be with Derek.

He tried to not notice the way Stiles lit up when Derek walked in, but it was tough. They had only known each other for a few weeks, but Stiles was like a lighthouse in a storm. Derek generally fell for people fast, but this was some sort of new record. Even Kate…

Well, Derek didn’t want to think about Kate. Seeing her again had brought back too many painful memories.

It was a cliche, having a crush on his ex-girlfriend’s employee.

“Derek,” Stiles said. He sounded concerned, like Derek had just asked him to cut his arm off. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, my sister is just worried,” Derek said. “She’s a bit of a nut.”

“Sounds like Scott,” Stiles joked. “He’s like a worried sister to me, too.”

Derek sat down at the chair adjacent to Stiles’ hospice bed. “I have two of em.”

“Well, I have a Melissa. And an Erica. And a Kira and a Malia. And a Liam, who doesn’t sound like a sisterly figure but really is.”

“What about the redhead?” Derek asked.

“Lydia?” Stiles chuckled to himself quietly. “Lydia’s my drinking buddy. I’ve seen her drunk off her ass. She’s like the cool cousin you smoke weed with.”

“My cousins were more like Dwight Schrute than Jim Halpert.”

Oh my God, a Office reference. Stiles was in love. 

“Who’s your favorite character?” Stiles asked.

“Meredith,” Derek replied. “Or Toby.”

“Ah,” Stiles nodded. “The underdogs.”

“They’re the essence of _The Office_. Where would Jim and Pam be without the other office members?”

“That was deep,” Stiles said sarcastically.

Derek laughed. “Oh, screw you.”

“You wish,” Stiles shot back.

Let’s be honest. So did Stiles.

“I’m ready to walk, I think,” Stiles said.

Derek brightened. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Will you help me stand?” Stiles raised his strong hand in Derek’s direction, and Derek took it. Stiles sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His ribs ached and when his boot hit the floor, he tried not to wince.

“It’ll hurt for a little bit when you walk with your boot,” Derek said. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed out. Stiles almost slipped, but Derek caught him, around the waist, like Stiles was a Disney princess. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Derek smiled. “Are you ready to stand on your own?”

Stiles nodded.

Derek let go, and Stiles stood by himself.

“This is awesome,” Stiles said. “It’s like a high.”

“You’re doing really great,” Derek grinned broadly. “Just wait until we’ve got you walking on the stairs.”

Stiles took a small step forward, and almost tripped. He caught himself, and looked out of the room’s window. He saw Theo and Derek’s sister at the nurses station, and the interns doing their chartwork.

Another small step. Then another, and another, until he was at the door.

And then Harbecker whacked Stiles in the face with the door. Once, in third grade, Lydia elbowed him in the nose on the playground. It was a little like that, except 1,000,000% worse. Sure, a million times worse was a little extravagant, but who was Stiles if he wasn’t dramatic?

“Harbecker!” Derek barked. “You always knock before entering!”

“Sorry, sir!” Harbecker squeaked.

“Go get bandages, Harbecker,” Derek sighed.

Harbecker ran away. Stiles tried to not laugh.

“Hey, you okay?” Derek asked. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“It’s all good,” Stiles said. “I’ve had nosebleeds before.”

Derek blushed. He tended to do that a lot. Stiles liked to think that his hotness rivaled the suns, and that every time Derek looked at him, he was blinded by Stiles’ beauty.

Harbecker walked back in, carrying dozens of bandages in her skinny arms. 

“We don’t need that much, Sara,” Derek muttered. Harbecker squeaked out an apology. Derek held the bandage bundle to Stiles’ nose.

“What time is it?” Stiles asked. “I’m kinda tired.”

Derek checked his watch. “Around ten pm. You should get a good night’s rest.”

“For the walking?”

“For the walking,” Derek confirmed, and when Stiles’ nose stopped bleeding all over the place, he led Stiles back to his bed and tucked him in.

He resisted the urge to kiss Stiles’ forehead.

Stiles’s breathing was even and calm, and Derek closed the door on the way out.

“Make sure Harbecker doesn't beam him with anymore doors,” Derek told Eckels as he headed home. Sure, he could have gotten off of work a few hours ago, but Stiles was so energetic and quickly becoming Derek’s favorite patient. Now, he just wanted to go home and get a good’s night rest.

So he tried, then came back to the hospital after an hour. There was a car crash, three victims. All lived, and were in recovery. It was eight am now, and Stiles had woken up, demanding to try walking again.

They had made it out of the room, for starters. Now Stiles was staring down the hallway, which seemed to grow longer the more he looked. Derek put his hand on the man’s back supportively. Theo held Stiles’ chart protectively, while Laura stared Derek down with her knowing eyes. Danny and Aiden, two of the other nurses, watched from the nurses station. They were all super protective over the trauma patients, and Stiles especially. 

Derek was sure that they would take him behind the hospital and beat him if Stiles wasn’t ready to walk. But he also knew that Danny was doing Aiden’s twin, Ethan, and Aiden didn’t know. He had seen them.

He had seen way too much in this hospital.

“Are you sure about this, Derek?” Laura asked, again.

“ _I’m_ sure,” Stiles said. “I’m ready.”

Derek removed his hand, and Stiles shivered. Immediately, Ethan moved towards him, like Derek had shoved him to the ground.

“I’m alright, guys. Seriously.” Stiles took a step. “Hey, can we get pancakes after this? Or like, pizza. I’m starving.”

“We could do this later,” Laura said. “Let you eat.”

“No!” Stiles yelped. He took another step, then three more. “Pancakes are the reward.”

Derek’s chest fluttered. If he was hooked up a monitor, he would have the cardio surgeons worried. It was erratic, his heartbeat. It was never like that around Kate, or Braedon, or Jennifer.

Stiles was just _different_. He wasn’t hurtful, wasn’t abusive, wasn’t manipulative. He probably wouldn’t ditch Derek in Mexico. Or try to kill him.

Stiles continued to walk slowly. He as one fourth of the way there, and the nurses watched on with pride. Danny looked like he was going to cry.

“We should bake a cake,” Theo told the other nurses discreetly. They all nodded. But Stiles didn’t notice. He paused for a moment, catching his breath. Derek sped up to walk with him, slowing down his pace to match Stiles’.

“You don’t need to walk with me, you know,” Stiles huffed. Derek offered him his hand. “I can do it.”

“Everyone needs someone sometimes,” Derek told him. Stiles took his hand, and their heartbeats seemed to match in speed. 

“Ready?” Derek asked. “Halfway there.”

“Ready,” Stiles confirmed, tightening his grip on Derek. Once Stiles got back on his feet, Derek let go. This was something that Stiles had to do on his own, and if Laura and her gang of nurses protested, they could take it up with him. He walked with Stiles the rest of the way, stopping when Stiles needed a bit of a break and speeding up when Stiles felt particularly energetic.

“You did it,” Derek said proudly.

Stiles pointed at him and said: “Pancakes.”

Laura brought over a wheelchair, and Derek shepherded Stiles to the cafeteria for his promised pancakes. They took the elevator, and Derek knew that Ethan and Danny had made out in it. (They thought he hadn’t noticed). (He did).

“Did you see me?” Stiles said excitedly. “I went all the way, by myself. Are you proud?”

Derek nodded. “Course.”

They stepped out of the elevator and down another hallway to the cafeteria. The interns were there, eating things that shouldn’t be ever eaten for breakfast. Harbecker was eating _mac and cheese_.

“Jeez, Doc,” Stiles said when they walked past. “Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned bowl of cereal?”

The other interns laughed and Harbecker smiled sheepishly.

Derek patted Harbecker on the back awkwardly and moved towards the lunch line. It was quick, and soon enough, Stiles had a plate stacked full of pancakes.

Derek grabbed a tray too, and summoned an intern to carry his pancakes. They headed back upstairs to Stiles’ room, and the intern kept his mouth shut. Stiles decided that he was his favorite.

They reached the trauma wing and flew to Stiles’ room. Stiles was famished, and the pancakes smelled delightful. Yes, hospital-food was notoriously branded as crappy, but they smelled fine to him. The Jello was good, anyways. Hopefully the pancakes were too.

“Do you have any surgeries today?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah,” Derek said, and Stiles’ face fell. He had been hoping to spend the rest of the day with the man, and now somebody was ruining it. Some chap with a broken femur or a hernia was biting him in the ass and ruining his day with the hot doctor sitting on the edge of his bed right now, shoveling pancakes into his mouth like it was his last meal. It was endearing.

And kind of a turn on, if Stiles was being honest.

Like, a big turn on.

Stiles tore his eyes away and poured more syrup onto his plate, completely missing his food.

“What time is your surgery?” Stiles asked. 

Derek checked his watch. “Nine thirty. Damn, we only have thirty more minutes.” Derek brightened. “What do you want to do.

Stiles almost said _kiss you_. He held it back. While Derek was paying special attention to Stiles, it could just be because of Stiles’ job. Derek also had a complicated history with Agent Argent, Stiles’ boss.

Derek’s pager started to beep, signaling that someone needed his immediate attention.

“I have to go, sorry, Stiles,” Derek frowned. “I’ll be back, okay? Try to take a nap or something.”

Stiles nodded cleaned up the dirty dishes, and watched as Dr. Cutie’s cute butt walked out the door. 

He shut his eyes, and the next thing he knew, he could hear Derek’s voice, asking him to wake up.

“Hey,” Stiles mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

“Hey,” Derek said softly. “It’s around one, by the way.”

“How was your surgery?”

Derek grinned. “It went great. She’s going to be fine.”

Stiles decided to not ask about what had happened to the patient. He was a little annoyed with whoever this girl was, annoyed that she had pulled Derek’s attention from him.

Good grief, Stiles was jealous. Jealous, of some girl he didn’t know. Some patient that Derek might or might not have fed Jello to.

There was a knock on the door, and Laura and her gang of nurses entered, carrying a cake.

“Congrats, Stiles!” Laura said. She had a broad smile lighting up her face. “It’s freaking amazing that you walked today.”

He hadn’t thought that it was that special, but it was. They clearly thought so. And, to be honest, he felt kind of special.

He watched as Derek and Laura had some sort of sibling eye-communication, and she began cutting out cake pieces. She handed two to tiles and Derek and ushered the boys out of the room, along with the cake. Laura knew her brother, and she had also recognized the look Stiles had given Derek when he looked at him. She knew that Stiles was no Kate, so she ushered the boys out of there and gave Derek and Stiles time to themselves.

Stiles pulled up Netflix on his laptop and patted the bed space next to him, inviting Derek to watch with him. Derek gladly took the invitation, and the two men squeezed together on the tiny bed.

He and Derek watched _The Office,_ shoveling cake into their mouths. 

“I cried when I watched Jim and Pam get married,” Stiles said as he bit into the cake slice. “Second time, too.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Stiles grumbled. “And the third time.”

Derek nudged the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, so did I. Fourth time, too.”

“You’ve watched this _four times_?” Stiles said, stumped. “You’re more of a _Office_ junkie than I am.”

“My little sister, Cora, is really into _The Office_ too,” Derek said. Stiles put his head on Derek’s shoulder, and Derek struggled to breathe. His hair smelled good, like oranges and vanilla. Everything about him was so _good_.

“Do you want to go home?” Derek asked.

Stiles picked his head up, surprised. He had liked staying at the hospital, with Derek, and the Bureau was covering his medical bills. Getting shot on the job had its perks.

“Should I?” Stiles asked, a little hurt.

“The requirements for GSW patients is walking down the hallway,” Derek said. “And you did.”

“When can I go?” Stiles asked.

“Today. Can Scott pick you up?”

“Yeah.” Scott was planning to come by, anyways. He could just take Stiles home when he left.

“Will you miss me?” Stiles grinned.

“Always,” Derek bumped his shoulder into Stiles’ good one. “I can have one of the nurses get the papers for you, and call your friends.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, and he turned back to the laptop. He pretended that tears didn’t sting his eyes when he thought about leaving Derek.

Soon enough, Stiles was signing papers, agreeing to go to physical therapy and take his pain medications, and Scott was wheeling him out of the hospital in his brand new wheelchair, a pair of crutches thrown across the handlebars.

Derek walked them out, where Scott’s car was running and waiting. Liam, like an overexcited puppy, was hanging his head out the window.

Scott went to put the wheelchair and crutches and Stiles’ other belongings into the car and Stiles stood awkwardly across from Derek, his good arm swinging.

“So…” Stiles said gawkily. He felt like an awkward teenager again.

“I’ll us, see you for check-ups?” Derek smiled softly and Stiles nodded and looked down at his shoes. His face was blooming red.

Derek leaned in for a hug, but Stiles went in for a kiss.Derek’s lips were warm, and soft, but when Derek didn’t kiss back, Stiles pulled away and made for the car. When Derek hadn’t kissed him back, Stiles knew. He knew that Derek hadn’t liked him _that_ way.

“Wait! Stiles,” Derek called after him, but Stiles was already gone.

Derek wiped at his eyes and ran into the hospital, into a supply room. Tears slipped from his eyes. Stiles had kissed him. Stiles had kissed _him_.

And Derek had screwed it all up.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot, but the plot got in the way
> 
> kudos/comments appreciated!!!


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